Slow night
by Unusual Volcanic Activity
Summary: In late 2006, in a roadside diner, on a rainy night, a waitress and a trucker while away a little time with conversation.


It's raining cats and dogs. The sound of the torrential downpour hitting the roof almost drowns out the radio.

The diner is pretty quiet. It's been a slow night, with the occasional trucker stopping by to gulp down a cup of joe and a sandwich to keep them going before they head back out into the rain. Goods need moving. They're not stopping unless they see Noah cresting the horizon on his ark.

Mary likes these nights. Thirty years of waiting tables teaches you to appreciate days when you don't have to deal with the demands of a swarm of hungry people for hours on end and there's always time for a quick, introspective smoke break. She's not as young as she used to be, and she could use the rest.

She's not sure why, but something catches her eye. There's three guys in here, all of them pretty much the same: Jeans, plaid shirt, trucker hat, facial hair. Just eating up, minding their own business. One of them is different, though. She tries to put a finger on how. He's not a big man, but powerfully built. Broad shoulders and a sort of compact, sturdy build that comes from a life of hard labour and exposure to the elements. He came in about half an hour ago, ordered a hamburger and some coffee in a rough, husky voice that sent a brief shiver down her spine. He's been sitting for a while now, draining his cup slowly and leafing through a soggy newspaper. A dark blue raincoat lies beside him. He does everything slowly and methodically, as if savouring every moment of the roadside diner experience. He doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave.

She's about to go offer him a refill when his head suddenly perks up.

"'scuse me...miss? Could you turn that radio up?"

"Sure thing hon," says Mary, and does.

Something about nuclear weapons and the UN. She doesn't much care, but the stranger seems to be listening with rapt attention. It goes on for a while. Eventually, it switches topics and he returns to his newspaper.

There's something rough about him, something primal and animalistic. Mary's pulse would probably be quickening if she were ten years younger. Animal magnetism, she thinks. She walks over with a fresh pot of cofee.

"How about a refill? Weather like this, a man needs something hot to warm his bones."

"Thanks," he growls, holding out his empty cup.

"So, what's happening out there in the real world?" she asks while she pours.

"Wouldn't know. Nothing much, I guess," comes the reply.

"Would have figured you for a man who keeps up with the news." She finishes pouring.

"Some things, yeah. Some things interest me more than others." He rubs the edge of the cup with his thumb. His hands are gnarly and lined with old scars.

"Mind if I sit down?" Mary asks. Nothing else requires her attention; might as well kill a little time. This guy looks like he has stories to tell.

"Go ahead."

She sits. He takes of his hat and lays it on top of his raincoat. A shaggy mane of dark hair frames a grim face covered in dark stubble. His eyes are slightly slanted; he probably has Asian ancestry somewhere along the line. He looks like something out of a tacky romance novel, a grizzled wanderer, driving up and down America's roads until he finally falls for a country belle who needs help saving her ranch from a greedy businessman.

"So what's interesting, then? Nuclear war?"

"Most people would say that, right?"

"There's plenty on the news to be scared of. One thing's as good as the next there, I guess."

"Really? Can you think of something else that could wipe us all from the planet two times over?" He sounds a little annoyed. Maybe she touched a nerve there.

"Maybe not," she says. "I guess there was all that nonsense last year up in Alaska. Must have a lot of people thinking."

"It should. Lots of ugly things got dragged into the light back then. Reminded us that the threat's still there, even if we've tried to forget it for the past decade. Just takes one nut with the right connections and resources." He grimaces, and takes a sip of his coffee.

"That whole thing was like something out an action movie. Did you ever read the book by that russian woman? Came out last month. One man stopping terrorists from starting a nuclear war. Pretty exciting stuff, right?"

"Yeah, I guess..." he says. He doesn't sound very impressed.

"Seems there's heroes after all," she goes on. "They said he died, but nobody's buying it." She smiles. "You ever wonder what sort of person he is? What kind of man can do something like this?"

He snorts. "Just a man. Same as me or you. People are always putting labels on things. Calling someone a "hero" or a "legend". There's no such thing."

"What makes you say that?"

"There's nothing heroic about war. Soldiers just follow orders. If they're ordered to kill someone, they do it. Being a better killer than anyone else doesn't make you a hero."

"You sound kinda bitter about this," she says, filling his cup again. "You ever been in the service?"

He sighs. "Yeah. Back when I was a kid. Seems like forever ago now. Getting out was probably the smartest thing I ever did. I've seen the way they do things in the army."

"So you've gone to war, then?"

"Yeah. I was in the Gulf back in the nineties. Should've learned my lesson back then, but it didn't sink in until later."

"Nothing to be ashamed of, hon. You did your part for your country."

He chuckles. "Right. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

Mary changes the subject. "Long way to go?"

"Gotta be in Cali by the third. No rush, really." He scratches his chin. The sound reminds her of sandpaper.

"No sense in rushing back out into that awful weather. We're open all night."

He looks out the window and smiles. "I like places like this. Where you can just sit down and have a bite to eat, and there's all these people around you just minding their own business, you know? Life's happening around you, and you can sit and watch it all by yourself while still being a part of it."

"Didn't take you for a philosopher."

"It's quiet on the road. I like it that way, by myself. But once in a while, it's nice to see that life still goes on. That there's people going about their lives. Means there's some point to it."

"To what?"

"Ah...nothing. Nevermind."

There's a beeping sound. He absentmindedly scratches his ear.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" she asks.

He seems slightly flustered. "You can hear...oh, right, my phone." He fishes a cellphone out of the pocket of the raincoat and flips it open. "Yeah?...two days out, max...yeah...yeah, I can do that...right, seeya."

He closes it and sticks it in his pocket. "Guess I have to get going after all. Change of plans. How much do I owe ya?"

They get up, and he finishes his coffee while she gets behind the counter and tallies up. He fishes some crumpled bills out of his pocket. "Keep the change, Mary."

"How do you...ah, right the nametag. Still forget it sometimes, even after all these years." She smiles as he gets ready to leave.

"You got a name, stranger?"

He pauses by the door.

"Dave. Nice meeting you, Mary. Take care."

"You too. Nasty weather outside, drive safely."

He throws a sort of half-salute over his back as he leaves. The door shuts behind him, and he's gone.

She's forgotten all about him by the end of the week. Just another trucker passing by.


End file.
